“I aint flying no plane that can be spotted side every other one between here en Medicine Hat. En what’s more, I aint leavin’ my machine while I go off some place else, see. How’d I get back, you goop—”
“That’ll do—”
“Sure it will, but when I leave, it’s in my own cock-pit, see.”
“Yeh, en when he goes, I’m goin’ long,” spoke up a red-headed fellow stepping beside the pilot, his fist dug menacingly in his pocket.
“Oh, keep your shirts on,” snapped the leader. “I fergot you couldn’t get back. Can you cover the machine up so if any one flies over she wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb?”
“Sure,” the pilot agreed readily, then he and his pal strode off to the helicopter. “Get the boys to chop us some vines,” he called.
Paying no further attention to their captives, the men set to work with a will and soon the two planes were so effectively covered with foliage that only a very close observer in the air would have suspected for a moment that they were not clumps of underbrush which had sprung out of the rocky crevices. Cautiously Mills and his red-headed pal examined the work and finally pronounced it finished.
“And we can get it off quick if we’re needin’ to leave in a hurry,” Mills announced with satisfaction.
“That’s good,” Lang nodded.
“What you going to do with those bozos,” the red head demanded.